


On My Own

by Fontainebleau



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: M/M, PWP, autoeroticism, previously posted on tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2019-01-04 20:12:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12175794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fontainebleau/pseuds/Fontainebleau
Summary: Mag7Week Day 2: Self-SufficiencyImported from my Tumblr because, well, it's appropriate ...





	On My Own

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally prompted, betaed and enabled by wanderingsmith, to whom many thanks!

He lies on his narrow cot, muscles still trembling from the day’s labour, staring sightlessly into the dark, waiting. The shifts and sighs of his gangmates punctuating the darkness of the cramped tent gradually grow fewer, and as they settle he slides a hand under his waistband as noiselessly as he can. He takes himself in his work-roughened hand, slowly at first, coaxing himself to hardness, then grips harder, jerking with quick firm strokes. 

Formless images move behind his eyes as he concentrates on the coiling warmth spreading outwards from his groin, blotting out other sounds and sensations. He tenses, trying to find a position where the frame of the cot won’t squeak in time with his quickening hand, but the movement of restless limbs and heavy snores cover the small sounds and his own hastening breaths until he tightens all over, reaching for the moment of pleasure and release, the blessed absence of thought that he seeks. 

He lies for a while, heart ticking down, relaxation finally achieved, then wipes his hand and rolls over to sleep.

\--

He has a new name, he has new clothes, hanging up on a peg behind the partition, and he’s travelled far enough and fast enough that he can afford to relax, can take his hard-won money and enjoy the small indulgences available to him: a satisfying meal, whisky one step up from rotgut, and this, a hot bath. 

Billy’s alone in the dimly-lit room, up to his neck in a steaming tub, and he lies drifting, head on the rim of the bath, limbs heavy in the water. Time winds slow as the strain soaks out of his body; it’s warm and dreamy, and almost without realising it he finds his hand moving below the surface in a lazy rhythm, pleasure rippling outwards through his body in slow diffuse waves. 

There’s no rush; the fingers of his other hand smooth over water-softened skin, settling to cup between his legs as he strokes himself contemplatively, letting the tide flow and build to the point of no return. The water drips, the steam wreaths up and he lifts his hips once, twice, sighing into it, stretching and luxuriating in the ease and peace. 

\--

Billy’s picking his way through the trees, following the river upstream. On the trail they’re in each other’s pockets and this unaccustomed solitude is welcome; by common consent he and Goody have taken themselves in different directions. 

Succumbing to the late afternoon heat and stillness he stops to rest, settling himself with his back against a tree and turning his face to the filtering leaves, letting the tension run out of his shoulders. A hand wanders to the buttons of his fly; privacy is a luxury, and here in the warm sun he draws himself out, feeling the air brush the sensitive skin. His fingers stir through the hair at his groin, and as he runs a loose hand gently up and down his length his senses blend into one: the warmth, the scent of the trees and flowers, the sound of the water, and his own breaths mingle with the breeze as he caresses himself slow and easy. 

Is Goody doing this too, he wonders, sitting in the sun as he is, stroking himself idly and feeling the same calm pleasure? The thought of it, the image, makes something spark and twist in his belly and his desire becomes more urgent, hand moving faster, head thrown back against the rough bark as he works to his peak, spending over his fingers and overflowing onto the grass.

\--

Billy lies on his bedroll, back to the fire, waiting to hear Goody’s breathing settle and deepen to a regular snore. At heart he knows it a betrayal: Goody is his manager, his business partner, his friend; his generosity and affection have transformed a lonely life. He should not … But still, when he’s sure his partner’s safely asleep Billy’s hand slides down without conscience to open his pants and touch himself featherlight where he’s already stiff and aching. 

He runs his fingers up and down, just grazing, from root to tip, then closes his hand, squeezing, and stifles his gasp in his other fist, because he knows what he wants this to be -- Goody’s touch, Goody’s hand sliding up and down his length, Goody’s thumb pressing under the head … 

Desire flares through him, hot and irresistible, even as his skin tingles with the awareness of Goody lying six feet away; it’s his own familiar stroke and tug, fingers weapon-calloused, palm smooth, but he draws his rhythm out in long rolling waves of sensation, conjuring images of how it might be: Goody washing by the creek, chest beaded with water, Goody smiling at him sideways, shoulder to shoulder by the fire, Goody lying beside him, arm around him, reaching to touch …and Billy arches up to his climax, straining with the force of it, biting down to keep himself silent. 

After, he lies with his heart thudding through the fading shocks of orgasm, Goody still sleeping oblivious behind him. 

\--

Back from the bath-house, skin still warm and hair damp, Billy lies on the narrow iron bed in their room. The heat of the water and the sight of Goody naked beside him make bathing in public a trial of gritted teeth and self-control, and finally, finally, he has the chance to attend to the throbbing arousal he can no longer contain, stretching naked with one hand behind his head, the fingertips of the other running delicately along the hot skin of his shaft. Eyes closed, he swirls a thumb gently over the head, and the smooth liquid touch sends a ripple of heat to his belly; he hears the door open and close again softly. 

‘Started without me, cher?’ asks Goodnight, amused. ‘Don’t let me interrupt you.’ 

Billy shivers as a finger brushes his jaw, trails down his neck and across his chest, breathes deep as it lightly circles his nipple. He continues stroking slow and easy, up and down, and smiles as he hears the clink of a belt and the sound of cloth rustling to the floor, then the mattress dips as Goody lays himself alongside him in a cloud of soap-scent and warmth. 

He opens his eyes to see Goody propped on one elbow, skin pink and flushed from his bath, drinking him in greedily from head to toe, his own arousal clear. Billy grips himself harder, squeezes a little and thrusts into it, just to see Goody’s eyes go dark as he watches. 

Goody takes Billy’s wrist, tugging his hand insistently up to his mouth to lick the palm until it’s sloppy wet, Billy’s cock twitching with pulses of anticipation. When Goody lets it go he curls his hand around himself again, gliding slick over the throbbing length, easing his legs apart as the tension starts to shiver in his thighs. 

There’s no sound but his own breath as it catches and quickens, and the creak of the bed as he jerks himself harder; the rising crests of pleasure take hold of him and he closes his eyes again, head thrown back, feeling Goody’s breath hot on his skin and his cock sliding hard and wet against his thigh.

It’s close, so close, and Goody’s hand wraps around his, mouth finding his neck to graze with his teeth, and together they take him crashing over the edge, gasping and cursing, spending in hot bursts onto his stomach. Goody guides his hand, easing him through the aftershocks, licking along his jawline until his breathing calms, then digs a hand into his hair to turn his head and draw him into a deep, sweet kiss. 

When their lips part Billy surges up, rolls Goody over and pins him laughing to the mattress. ‘Now your turn,’ he says, ‘I’m not here to do this on my own.’


End file.
